First Girl
by Skylar Harte
Summary: The first girl of the United States gets her life saved by a cute but slightly annoying boy. Will love survive the trials of a creepy, misguided stalker? And the tribulations of life in the White House?
1. Prologue

Prologue

It's not easy being the president's daughter. I mean, yeah, there are perks, like the fact that I can get in anywhere for free, and I get new clothes for free, every time my dad has a press conference, and we have our very own cook who knows exactly what I like, seeing as we've been there for a while, and we live in this huge house and everything, but it's not all it's cracked up to be. Like the fact that when I get my new clothes, they're always pant suits (I refuse to wear skirts in public, I really only have two), the cook hates it when I ask them for something other than what they serve (and they always serve nasty food like fish), this huge house that I live in is not really big, 'cause only, like, one wing is dedicated to living, and all the rest are for working (even though they do have a bowling alley in the basement), and, also, when I get into places for free, they always ask for my autograph, and need to get pictures with me. And the least great thing about being the president's daughter: I'm followed everywhere by secret service agents. I mean seriously, how can someone whose got as many people following them around as I do feel so alone? I know that's sort of cliché, but seriously, my dad moved us all down to Washington D.C from New York, and he absolutely forbids my friends coming down here. I guess I sort of understand why, I mean, they're not exactly the kind of people anybody's parents want them hanging out with, let alone the president of the United States of America. But really, he sent me to a genius' private school, where all the kids (pre-K to twelfth grade) are obsessed with getting into Ivy League Schools, but me, I just want to get into RISD, the ultimate greatest school for artists. But my parents, being the first couple and everything, don't think being an artist is the best job I could, or should, have.

So, not only did my parents move me a couple thousand miles away from where I grew up, just so my dad could run the free country, but they basically ruined my life. I know, I know, I'm being kind of self-centered, but seriously, think about it. When you're fourteen , your dad decides he's smarter than the previous president and runs, he gets elected and forces you to move a couple thousand miles away, then he forces you to go to a private school when you grew up in public school, doesn't allow your friends to visit, and doesn't like the hobby that you've chosen to follow for the rest of your life. Now how happy are you? That's what I thought.


	2. Tall, dark and handy?

Chapter One

"Cori, get up!" Ugh, even on a Saturday, the president's daughter doesn't get to sleep in. A Saturday!

"Come on Greta, be a kid again. It's Saturday, go away!" I rolled over, pulling the covers up over my head.

"I know, kiddo, but your daddy has another conference today, and he needs you there." Even though I haven't called my father daddy since I was five (and then only because I fell off the swing at the playground and broke my wrist—I walked over to him and this weird guy on the benches and was like, "Daddy I hurt my wrist," and he took me to the hospital for a cast), Greta still refers to him as 'my daddy' when she's trying to coax me into doing something for him, and 'the president' when he's really irritated me.

"Ugh, you said that last time, and he took me to a hospital where he installed a new wing for the adults with cancer. Why would this time be any different?"

"This time he's holding a press conference at some public school here in D.C. and he needs you there to help promote his theme."

"Which is?"

"Something about the family. Now get up, your mother wants you in one of your skirts, so get a move on." She knows that my mom insists that I wear a skirt to every single one of my dad's conference thing-y's, and we always argue about that when I wear a pair of jeans instead. The arguments last about twenty minutes, and always end up with my mom surrendering, and allowing me to wear one of the dorky pant suits. See, I've lived with my mother long enough to have developed this technique, whenever she asks me to do something, I do something way less that I know she'll hate, and she always argues with me, and then she sees the light, (that what I really want is better than what she has now), and lets me do what I want.

So I got up, and dressed (in my rattiest jeans ever, to show how much I really hate these stupid things) and went down to breakfast.

Much to my surprise when I got downstairs for breakfast, my mother barely even glanced at my clothes. What little attention she did give was enough for her to go, "At least wear a pair of jeans that don't have holes in the butt. And grab a jacket while you're up there, it's going to be pretty cold."

"Gee mom, what's wrong with you?"

"Why whatever do you mean? Nothings wrong with me. Well…except for the fact that your father insists on pulling me out of bed at six on a Saturday morning to get ready for his press conference on the importance of family, but can't even get to his own family's breakfast on time."

"Okay, sorry I asked," I tucked into the table and set my plate up with some eggs and toast. "So really mom, you're okay with me wearing jeans and flip-flops to this conference?"

"Yes, of course. In fact your father insisted. He thinks it'll help us relate to the average family, if you can wear what you feel most comfortable in. So I get to wear something casual, not one of those skirts that I love."

I felt bad for my mom. She lived for those stupid skirt suits that she wears every day of her life. And then my dad just kind of told her mot to wear them.

"Aw, mom, do you even own something else?"

"Yes, of course I do, silly." She didn't. She so didn't.

"Alright mom, come on." She needed my help if we were going to appear to be a normal family.

"Where are we going?"

"To your closet. You've got to have something that can be casual. If not, well then, emergency trip to the mall. Now let's go." I immediately abandoned my meal. Ever since the first year my dad was president when I protested his presidency by not eating, I haven't really had much of an appetite. My parents were supposed to be paying close attention to what I eat, but they don't really, that's Greta's job. Now she grabbed my plate and handed it to me as she followed me out the kitchen.

It took fifteen minutes, but I finally found am outfit for my mother that was semi-casual. I munched on the toast while my mother was in the bathroom changing. Five minutes later we were in the limo, driving down the road to Robert James Secondary Prepatory School (also known as James Prep to those who attend there).

James Prep was a big, somber, depressing lump of a school. It consisted of three buildings surrounding an open courtyard on three sides. The middle building was the office, the auditorium, the gym, and the arts classrooms, such as drama and art class. The building to its left contained the math and science classrooms and laboratories. The building opposite it was the language building, and the social studies building. I was glad that I went to a privileged private school, because it had a lot more money to spruce itself up, and wasn't as depressing as James Prep. All three buildings here were gray, and the courtyard was mostly dirt, as if no one could take the time to keep grass in it.

We walked into the office building, amidst yells of support for my father the president, and screams for autographs. It took about ten minutes for us to get to the auditorium, what with the many people inside coming up to talk to the president, and the secret service guys who always follow us around having to check everybody who approaches him. When we finally got to the auditorium we were all hustled into separate cubicles set up backstage for hair and make-up. It was all part of the job description, I get to accompany my dad to every press conference, have someone I've never met before pluck and pull, and _tsk tsk_ about me not taking care of something I didn't even know I had on my face, and then get to sit on the side of the stage and pretend to actually care what my dad is saying, when really, whatever he's saying is going way over my head like he's speaking Greek, and I speak French.

I sat on the stage, twenty minutes later, for once not thrust into the background, and for once actually understanding what my father was saying. He was talking about family being the most important aspect of the American life, and having family is all one really needs to be successful, and how to be supportive of your family, blah blah blah. I looked out over the crowd, my attention waning (hey nobody ever accused me of having the longest attention span in the world—normally I'm out in five minutes, at least I lasted this long!). There were a few teens my age in the audience, mostly there to either: a) be on television; b) meet the president and get his autograph; or c) help out because their teachers/parents made them come, a lot of parents, and of course, secret service agents. One person in particular caught my eye. He was standing at the back of the auditorium, as if trying to go unnoticed, with long dark hair that fell into his eyes, and a green jacket on. When he saw me looking at him, he winked at me before ducking out the side doors into the hallways. Just then the director called for and intermission for everyone to get refreshed, (and with a meaningful look in my direction) and check our make-up. After I spent about five minutes with my make-up artist, I went in search of food.

Hey, these things always have food, and just because I don't normally have much of an appetite doesn't mean that skipping breakfast and then sitting for an hour at my dad's press conference can't bring it out. I finally found the food table in the hallway around the corner from the auditorium, and was filling my plate with little mini-quiches, and cheese-squares and such, when someone spoke my name. Just my name, that's it (granted it was my full name, middle names included, but still). In those seven words, I recognized the one voice that I had never wanted to hear in my life again. Steven.

"Corida Manuela Armani Samantha Danielle Lilia Jackstoneson." (FYI its: My mom's grandmother's name, my dad's mom's name, my mom's mom's name, my mom's godmother's name, my dad's godmother's name, my mom's godsister's name, and my dad's last name. My parents couldn't decide when I was born.)

"Steven Andrew Samuels." Damn him for only having one middle name, it didn't sound as weird that way. "What do you want?" I did nothing to hide the disgust on my face. He was the guy who told everyone in the eighth grade that I still wet my bed. (I didn't, he was just trying to get me to go out with him. Needless to say I didn't ever go out with him, but he didn't stop trying.)

"Just here for the summer visiting my dad. When I heard you were coming, I figured I would come visit, you know catch up with old friends." Back in California, they got out of school a month earlier, but went to school a month earlier as well.

"Well, if you find any, be sure to get their e-mail." If he considered us friends, he needed a reality check. I mean, yeah, he signed my yearbook at the end of eighth grade, but I refused to sign his. I tried to turn back to the food buffet, but he stepped in front of me, blocking my way.

"Aw, come on Cori, don't be that way. Let bygones be bygones. Put your behind in the past." How dare he quote my favorite movie when I hated his guts?

"Aw, Steven, to you my name Corida." I hated my full name, and I only told the people that I hated to call me that, and Steven knew it.

"Cori, don't hate, that was three years ago. I've moved on, everybody back home has moved one, why can't you move on?"

"Because when I left, you were the only person that I never wanted to see again. And I don't hate, I despise, so if you'll please excuse me?" I tried to step around him, looking around for any of the secret service guys who're supposed to follow me around, maybe they could get him to leave me alone.

"Cori, one thing you have to remember, I loved you then." All of a sudden, his voice was really low, and menacing, and he was really close to me. Like, too close for comfort. Once again I looked around for my secret service guys. Now was not the time for them to actually listen to my complaining. "I still love you, and I'll do anything to get you." His hand was a vice around my wrist, and his other hand grabbed my arm higher up, twisting it behind my back. The people around us finally looked up at us, but not one of them stopped what they were doing to try and help me. "I wouldn't deny me anything any more. You see, while you were gone I did some growing up, and joined a gang. These people are smart, and they have some pretty good ideas about what's right and wrong. Like, you denying me—wrong. Me wanting revenge—right. Now, give me what I want and we won't have any problems."

"Full of yourself, much?" When I said this, his hand tightened around mine, pressing it harder, and hurting me more. "Look, no offense dude, but you really smell, if you let me go, maybe we can talk about this like the civil people we are, and not the savage people we're not." He didn't respond, instead he dragged me away from all of the people, into a hallway a little ways away, and pulled out a gun, pointing it at my head.

"Look, just shut-up," he shoved me against a locker, afraid, I didn't move, hoping if I was as still as them lockers, he would forget I was there and leave me alone. "I learned a lot, like the man's place in the relationship, and the woman's. And your place is in the back where no one can see you or hear you. So when I tell you to do something, you do it, like when I tell you we're going out, we're going out. Got it?"

I just nodded, hoping to find a way to get out of there. It appeared that I was trapped, with a psycho reject, and a gun pointed at my head, until I glimpsed a familiar green jacket flashing behind a classroom door. A familiar dark head peeked out the window and winked at me before ducking back again. With renewed hope, I turned back to Steve, trying to stall him until my rescuer (in form of a mysterious teen boy) rescued me. In the back of my mind I wondered if anybody even noticed I was gone, but realized it had only been a few minutes since they had called intermission.

"Wait, where were you during the conference? I didn't see you in the crowd."

"I waited in the back, with a hat on that covered my face. I didn't want you to see me, waiting for the right time.'

"What—what are you going to do to me?" He gave me a strange look, as if only just realizing where we were.

"Don't get that look, like I'm the bad guy. I only want what's best for you and I and I know that that is for us to be together. I'm not going to hurt you, unless you disobey me. So just do what I tell you, and we'll be good." The face in the mirror showed up again, this time pointing to his watch, and signaling me to wait for him. I tried to slow my breathing, but it was coming in shallow ragged breaths, and I was starting to shake. Steven put the gun down on a chair in the hallway, and walked closer to me, unbuttoning his shirt in the process. "Now, we're just going to perform a little ceremony to bind you to me, I'm sure you know exactly how this works." By the time he was right in front of me, his shirt was fully unbuttoned, and my hands were shaking in fear. Being only a junior in school, and the president's daughter, I had never had sex before, and I wasn't ready to do it with Steven here and now. I never actually wanted to do it with Steven ever.

"I—I…I don't know what to do…" I stuttered, trying to find a way out of here.

"Don't worry I'll show you, but right now, just take off your shirt." Not wanting to upset him, I did as instructed, glancing at the door behind him for a glimmer of hope, but all I saw was a dark, empty room.

Steven reached down, and unbuckled my belt, slipping it off before unbuckling his and slipping it off. He then pushed me up against the lockers, his hands snaking up to unclasp my front-closing bra. I closed my eyes, silently willing someone—anyone—to wander around the corner and find us. But it was time to start the conference again, and since I was perpetually late to these things, I wouldn't be missed for a little while. Right before the last clasp was unclasped, the mysterious boy behind the door, jumped out and yelled.

"Stop, back away from her!" Startled, Steven stepped back, away from me, reaching for his gun. He wasn't off guard for many seconds, but it was long enough for me to grab my belt and shirt and run behind my savior (no offense to Jesus or anything), and cower in my bra (no, I was not in any frame of mind to think about propriety or being only in a bra with two guys, I just wanted to be the heck away from him).

"Hey, uh, you might want to put a shirt on, if he shoots that thing, a lot of people are going to come running." Mr. Mysterious whispered to me as Steven aimed the gun at his head.

"Yeah, thanks. Um, what's your name again?" I know, not the time for introductions, but I needed to call him something other than Mr. Mysterious in my head.

"Zack. Um, do you really think he's going to shoot that thing?" Zack looked at me for a moment, making sure I wasn't severely injured before turning his attention back to the situation at hand.

"Yeah, after talking to him for a couple of minutes, and knowing him all my life, he probably would shoot it, if you crossed him. Which you have." I slipped my head into my shirt, and fully prepared to duck when he finally shot. "Are you at all prepared to defend yourself?"

"Other than with my hands? No."

"Great." Throughout this whispered conversation Steven was getting his aim centered on Zack's head.

"Can you run really fast? Because if I attempt to take him down, you would need to run really fast to get help."

"Um, I guess. But can we find a non-violent solution, I really don't like guns."

"I don't like the whispering. Friend, if you want to save anybody's life, I would suggest you step away from her before I shoot you." Steven furiously waved the gun in front of Zack's face.

"Alright when I say run, duck!" Zack whisper-yelled over his shoulder to me. "Run!" Like a good student I ducked down, but it wasn't low enough for Zack who pushed me onto the ground underneath his body, making sure I was safe as the gunshot rang out down the hall. Then he tackled Steven, and wrestled the gun away from him, sliding down the hall. At this point, a few people had heard the commotion, and ran to see what it was. When they saw the gun, they yelled for help, and within minutes, the secret service agents had restrained Steven, and helped Zack off the ground. I had also found out the my right wrist was broken from the impact of hitting the ground, lucky for me, my drawing hand is my left one (in case I didn't mention it, I'm a drawer, and I'm ambidextrous, though I tend to use my right hand more often, except when I'm drawing). Hearing my mother's distressed voice, I turned and hurried to her, to let her know I was okay, and to show her my wrist. Now that everyone was okay, and out of danger, my wrist really hurt. My mom led me over to a bench, and sat me down next to her, all the while calling 911 for my wrist and Steven.


	3. Home Sweet Home

Chapter Two

I woke up a few hours later hungry and groggy, and in a hospital bed. My mom was asleep in the chair next to the bed, and my dad was nowhere to be found. There were no secret service agents in the room, but doubtless they were flanking the door on the outside. I needed to pee, but didn't want to waked my mother, so I quietly got out of bed, and snuck into the bathroom.

When I got out a few minutes later, my dad was there, with an overnight bag for me. I grabbed it without a word, and wordlessly returned to the bathroom. Glancing at a clock on the bedside table, I realized I had slept for the rest of the day, and all night, and it was now the next morning. I ran the shower until it was hot, and climbed in, making sure not to get my cast wet (yes, they gave me a cast. I would later find out I had broken my wrist in three different places). I stayed in the shower for almost an hour (look, you try bathing with one hand!) before the hot water started running out, and I got out. It took me another twenty minutes to get dressed and do my hair before I was finally decent. When I got out of the bathroom there were more people in my room then were there when I left.

My mom and dad had been joined by none other than Zack, my rescuer, and what I presumed to be his family. I stepped back into the bathroom for one last check on my hair before making my Grand Entre. My parents were gushing to Zack's parents about how thankful they were that Zack was there when Steven pulled the gun, and saved my life. They obviously didn't know about Steven's twisted view of right and wrong, but they would soon (dude, the guy tried to rape me! I'm not going to just let him walk away unjustified—if that's how you say 'without justice'). Zack was standing by the window of my room, looking out the window. I was surprised that reporters hadn't followed him here from…wherever he lives. Normally anything that has to do with the first family gets an entire front page article written on it and way too much coverage. I walked over next to Zack, totally unseen by either of our parents, and peered out the window. There were reported out on the lawn, but they were preoccupied by something in front of the hospital to look up and see us.

"So, did they find out where you lived yet?" I asked Zack when he closed the blinds.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you saved the life of the first daughter. The news reporters are bound to be all over that. So have they been following you everywhere?"

"Well, considering the only place I've been since yesterday is here, then yes, they have been following me everywhere. It's really annoying; they don't even ask important questions, they ask stupid ones. Like whether or not I have a boyfriend, or if I prefer Pepsi to Coke, or whatever. If I'm going to be the center of attention I want to be able to do something, speak out against something." Zack took a deep breath and turned back to the window. I put my hand on his arm, and he turned his head to look at me.

"Look, if you think they're annoying now and all you did was save my life, then if you were to speak out against something, it would get a lot worse. Be thankful they haven't found anything serious to nail you on. Just stay under the radar for a while and it'll all die down." I knew. Hey, I was the president's daughter after all, so everything I did was in the press. Even when I went anorexic, I was in the press as a poster child for protest the wrongs in the world (they obviously didn't know what I was protesting, they thought I was protesting the sweat shops in third world countries or something).

"How do you know?"

"I'm the president's daughter. I've done a few 'scandalous' things in my dad's presidency, that have made the papers. It's a lot worse when you do something bad than when it's something like saving a life. If you want the reporters of your case then just don't do anything and they'll eventually get bored. But it'll take a while." I was still getting questions about what I was protesting with my anorexia. (I never really answer them because how do you tell all your father-adoring fans that you went anorexic and almost died because you didn't want your father—their hero—to become president?)

"Oh. So I guess it's always like this for you?"

"Yeah, kind of." That was the point when my parents realized we were still in the room, and rushed over to hug us.

"Oh I just can't get over how close you were to death yesterday," my mom gushed as she pulled me into a bear hug. "If it weren't for Zack here, you would be dead."

"Not quite, Mrs. Jackstoneson," Zack spoke up from where his mother was holding him in a strangle-hold similar to the one my mom had me in now. "She wouldn't have died. Steven wouldn't have killed the person that he believed he belonged with."

"Whatever do you mean? I saw the gun!" My dad finally spoke up.

"Well, you see, Steven was still mad from when I rejected him in the eighth grade," I decided to take over the story telling. It would be better for my parents if they heard it from me. "So he joined some type of gang or something in California, where they believe the woman's place in a relationship is behind the man doing whatever he tells her. So he was telling me that we were going to be together forever, and if I argued he would shoot me. So I of course was going to do whatever he asked. Even when he wanted to make me have sex with him." I was surprised at how easily the word 'sex' came off my lips—like I'd been saying it all my life. It did, however, make my mother jump. "He had my shirt and belt off, and his shirt unbuttoned and belt on the floor when Zack jumped out and, uh, saved me?" I wasn't sure how to phrase Zack's part yesterday, so it came out sounding more like a question than a statement.

"Oh, my God!" My mother, like expected, needed to sit down before she could handle hearing the news. "Oh, my little girl. How scared you must've been!" She held her arms out to me, to hug me, and if I were a good little girl I would've run into them and let her hug me, but I'm not a good little girl, and I just looked at my mother like she had grown a third head. She didn't see my look, but got the message when I didn't let her hug me. "I can't believe this happened to you! Where were your secret service agents, I've told you never to go anywhere without them!" Leave it to my mom to make it seem like I had a choice on the secret service. Like they were some sort of accessory to wear or something.

"Mom, I promise, I didn't purposely ditch my secret service agents to go away with Steven. In fact I looked around for them when he took me, but they weren't there. Do not find any way to make this my fault." My mother was the best at making everything that ever happened to me—good or bad—my fault, even if it wasn't. It was one of the very wonderful things about her (not!).

"Honey, you know I wouldn't make this your fault. I mean it's not your fault that you just didn't like this guy three years ago, and just couldn't get over your hatred for him. And it's also not you fault that he tried to make amends but you couldn't accept them and he took drastic measures. Of course not, honey, none of this is your fault." Okay, remember what I said about us all loving this trait of hers? Yeah, I pretty much hate it.

"Whatever." Suddenly making sure Steven got justice wasn't so important when my mother got into the equation. She always, always, found a way to twist it and make me the one at fault.

"Look, sweetie, I know you didn't mean to cause all this, but you don't really know how you come off to some people sometimes. Maybe if you would have been a little more welcoming and a little less hateful, this would never have happened. You know—"

"Mom, come on—"

"Ladies, let's not have this argument here. Let's move on to better and brighter things." My dad cut in at just the right time. My mother and I were about to really get into a screaming match, in the middle of a hospital room, with Zack and his parents there. "Let's just be thankful that nothing worse than Corida being de-clothed happened."

"Whatever." I so wasn't in the mood to be here talking about this. I walked back over to the window, and peeked out. I heard Zack come up behind me while our parents went back to talking. Zack's were mainly talking about how good he was in school, and how he never did anything bad, and how all the girls were always calling him up for a date, and he was such a gentleman. Mine were talking about how opinionated I was and how stubborn I got, and how much of a rebel I could be when someone made me mad. So basically, our parents decided it would be good for the two of us to go out. It was kind of like those countries where the girls and boys don't even have to know, let alone like, each other before they get married, and their parents had their marriage arranged by the time they were old enough to be married. You know, the same countries where thirteen year-old girls can marry eighty year-old guys.

"So I hear, I'm, like, the perfect match to help you clean up your act." Zack whispered in my ear, keeping our conversation a secret.

"Yeah, wonder how long it'll be before they actually try to set us up on a date?" I bet my parents were asking his to come over for dinner, to 'thank him'.

"Actually, I think they're planning on having me over for dinner. Bet they'll find a way to leave us alone together while I'm there." Ha, funny.

"It'll probably be when I 'excuse myself for the restroom' but I'm really going to the kitchen to get better food, and then they'll send you to make sure I didn't get lost. But when you find me, I'll still need better food, so you'll come with me, and we'll have dinner together." I knew, it was the same thing they tried every time they invited cute guys over to the White House. Because it's the White House nobody ever says no, and my parents always choose 'clean-cut' guys, who they want to make a good impression on me. They always come after me, about five minutes after I've excused myself, and then our parents find some other excuse for us being alone together once we've returned about twenty minutes later.

"So, you don't like the food they serve?" Zack seemed amused by this insignificant piece of information.

"Not the stuff they serve at important dinners like this. It's always fancy salads, and stuffed fish, and nastiness. I much prefer the stuff we get at private meals, like hamburgers, and soup. The cook knows what I like, and always gives me something good, no matter how much he complains."

"So, if I go, I'll need to have dinner beforehand, to make sure I don't starve?"

"No, because when they send you to find me, we'll have good food together. Where do you want to eat? We could eat in the Green Room, or the Blue Room. Or my favorite, the Rose Room."

"How about the Rose Room? But can you tell the cook to make something vegetarian? I don't eat meat."

"Vegetarian? Hmm, we could have tomato bisque! I want to be vegetarian, and I tried it once, but I don't like a lot of vegetables so I quit. I settled for being a spokesperson for human and animal rights."

"Yeah." It was by now almost twelve in the afternoon, and Zack's parents needed to go to work. I didn't know what they did, but I never wanted to have to work on Saturdays. Zack and his parents left, after my parents invited them to dinner the next night. As soon as they left the hospital, I heard the yells and shouts of the reporters. I mentally cringed; I always hated facing them, even after six years as the president's daughter.

An hour and a half later, and the doctors declared me ready to go home. I was so ready to be out of there, even if it meant facing the press again. It was part of the job description of being the president's daughter (probably the part I protested). We made our way through the crowd, with my mom paying extra attention to my casted arm, making sure it didn't get jostled by the crowd.

We got home a little while later, and per the doctors orders, my mom gave me a pain pill, and sent me to my room. I was supposed to take a map, but because I had slept for, like, seventeen hours the night before I just turned on the television (it was the White House for crying out loud!) and watched the news for the update. I really was only interested in the coverage of the night before. It was my way of staying informed (if I asked my dad I would get a long-winded explanation of something I didn't care about, and my mother would just make it seem like it was my fault again, so I watched the news) and knowing what it was okay to talk about in public, and what was private.

At some point while watching T.V. the pain suppressant my mom gave me kicked in and I was out like a light.

Greta woke me up with dinner in bed later and another pain pill, and once again I was out like a light.

The next morning I was up earlier than normal, having slept for seventeen hours two days before and twenty hours the next night. I got dressed in sweats and a tank-top and headed to the indoor track in the basement for a morning run. I hadn't gone running in a while, and I needed to work out. The real reason I wanted a non-violent way out of the situation the other day was because I wasn't sure how fast I could run. I needed to work up my endurance and speed; I considered training for a marathon, but decided against it.

After my run (I went six miles to challenge myself) I took a shower, and got dressed and headed down to breakfast. After running I always had an appetite; they were the few times that I actually wanted to eat a lot.

Greta watched me approvingly as I stacked my plate high with proteins and carbs. I sat down at the counter in the kitchen and ate. My mom was still asleep, and my dad was already at work, so rather than eat alone, I preferred to be in the midst of the hustle and bustle of the work staff. Today they were preparing dinner for tonight, and Cooky (his real name was something German that I couldn't pronounce, so I called him Cooky, and he never had a problem with it) was talking about how glad he was that Zack was alive to save my life.

"Ja know, Cary, it vas quit lucky dat Sack was dere four joo. He is de besded parson dare is. He safed jar life joo know. I don't know vere vee vuld be wifout him. My life jost vuldn't be da same wifout joo." (For those of you who don't speak German-American: "You know, Cori, it was quite lucky that Zack was there for you. He is the best person there is. He saved your life, you know. I don't know where we would be without him. My life just wouldn't be the sane without you.") I nodded and smiled as one of Cooky's helpers put more eggs on my plate.

"Hey, Cooky, do you think you could make some Tomato Bisque for me tonight? The guy that Mom and Dad want to set me up with is vegetarian, so I can't really give him the same burgers I gave the last few guys. Even though they were phenomenal!"

"Cary, fo joo, I dew anyting. I jus' luv joo, as fo Sack, he safed de world as I know it…I dew anyting fo him, too." Cooky slapped another piece of bacon on my plate. It was his way of showing affection (I also think it has something to do with him being married to Greta, and her being worried about my weight—fyi, I weigh like 115 lb's).

"Thanks Cooky, I love you, too. Now stop putting food on my plate or I won't want lunch." Cooky grinned at me as he put the bacon back in the frying pan for my mother, and one of his helpers took my plate to the sink. I hopped off the table and started wandering around. I loved hanging in the kitchen and helping the staff, but on important nights like tonight, they preferred that I stay out of their way, so I left. It was a Sunday, so I didn't have any homework or schoolwork to do. I didn't practice any religion, so I didn't have to go to church, and I didn't have many friends to call. So basically I had nothing to do for a whole day.

My wandering took me down to the T.V. room in the basement (not really a theater room, but not quite a T.V. room), with the plasma screen, and millions of DVDs. I flipped through the channels until I found a movie that looked as if it had just started. I sat like that watching two movies in the meantime, until lunchtime.

Lunch was boring; Cooky made hamburgers, but kicked me out of the kitchen so he could finish dinner for tonight, so I ate all by myself in the private dining room (which even though it's only for family is still pretty huge). Even Greta was busy making sure everything (with exception of my room) was clean and presentable. After lunch I went to my room. I had nothing to do; I hadn't been to the library lately, so I had nothing to read or do for the rest of the day. I decided to pull out my sketchbook; I hadn't done much sketching in a while, and I definitely hadn't sketched the view outside my room. Being the White House and everything, it had a pretty view of the yard and everything. Sketching was just the kind of distraction I needed, I ended up sketching all the way until my mom came frantically running down the hall to my room to make sure I was ready for Zack and his family to come over (I wasn't). I hopped in the shower for a quick scrub down, and changed. My mom had demanded, quite incessantly, that I wear a skirt and instead of arguing (and because we didn't have enough time) I just wore the skirt like she insisted. It's not that I don't like skirts; I just have to behave a certain way in the skirt to make sure I don't show anybody anything.

Just as I had made myself presentable for the public, Zack showed up with his parents, and dinner was served. I sat through three courses of the seven course meal, just pushing the food around on my plate while my parents and Zack's talked about…something.

I winked at Zack as I said, "Please excuse me, Mr. and Mrs. Pansoski, I have to use the utilities." I walked down the hall towards the restroom, but hung a quick right and made my way to the kitchen. As expected, within five minutes, my parents had sent Zack to find me and make sure I hadn't hurt myself. Silently I led him into the kitchen, and sat down on the stool.

"Cooky, this is Zack. Zack meet Cooky." I introduced the two of them as Cooky scooped some of his famous Tomato Bisque into a couple of bowls and handed them to us. He babbled on about how thankful he was that Zack was able to save my life (really, he's just a bug softie), and Zack and I were able to finally extract ourselves from the kitchen. I lead him upstairs to the Rose Room, where there was a table in the corner, set up for two. It made this seem more like a date than I wanted it to be, so I sat next the floor in front of one of the couches, and held my soup in my lap in front of me. Zack looked down at me for a second like I was out of my mind.

"Are we eating on the floor? Don't you live in the White House? We could eat anywhere, and you choose the floor?" He looked down at me for a while. I shrugged at him, and continued eating my soup. After a second or two, he shrugged as well, and sat down next to me.

We ate in silence for a while, before Zack spoke again, "So, do you like the color green?"

"Yeah, why?" I was a little bit confused about where that came from.

"Well, the first time I saw you, you were wearing a green belt, even though it didn't match anything, and you were wearing green eye shadow, even though once again it didn't match what you were wearing. And now, you're wearing green and pink nail-polish, with a blue outfit."

I looked down at my hands; my right hand was painted green with the middle finger painted pink, and the left hand was painted pink with the middle finger painted green. I always had my fingernails painted green. It was the rebel in me protesting; I was speaking out against the youth of today conforming to the standard of normal. (The only bad part was that now that I was the president's daughter all the girls were doing it, and if you didn't then you would be accused of not conforming to the standard of normal.) "I guess you could say that green was my favorite color. I mean my room back home was plastered with different shades of green. My dream car is a green VW bug; and my birth stone is green."

"Wow, so you're pretty much obsessed with the color green?"

"Not just green, it's gotta be lime green. Green's just to normal; I'm trying to make a statement here."

"What are you making a statement about?"

"Girls trying to conform to the norm. But now that I'm the president's daughter, people are doing it just because they think it's cool, and it has the opposite effect. I'm trying to think of some other way to state my point. But other than dying my hair green, I can't think of anything. My mother would probably murder me if I dyed my hair green."

"What if you…?"

"That's exactly my problem. There's nothing that's subtle enough to make people wonder, but obvious enough to make people look. I've considered everything, but nothing, except for painting my nails, has worked, and now that everybody's painting their nails, it kinda has the opposite affect."

"You could paint a green abstract poster, and make it say 'Go Green' and have, like, multiple neon colors in it."

"And where exactly would I put it?"

"I don't know. You could…"

"Exactly." All of a sudden the Beatles' song "Here Comes the Sun" popped into my head, and I couldn't help but sing it. "Here comes the sun, du en du du, here comes the sun, and I say, it's alright." Before I knew it, Zack was singing with me.

"Little darling, it's been a long cold lonely winter. Little darling, it seems like years since you've been here." Both our bowls were on the table away from us, and we were singing loudly like the losers we were. Like a heat flash, the sudden giddy feeling that made me sing aloud went away and suddenly I was shy. I mean here I was, wearing one of the only two skirts that I owned, with the really cute guy who saved my life.

Zack noticed the shift in my mood, and the look on his face said he wondered why. "Hey, what's up?"

"Uhm, nothing. Just couldn't remember the words." Truthfully? His knee was touching mine, and I wasn't actually paying attention to anywhere other than where he was touching me. Right then, saving him from having to remind me that we went back to the chorus, Joan, my favorite secret service agent came in to tell me that our parents were looking for us. I glanced at the clock on the wall, and was surprised to find that close to forty-five minutes had passed. We hurried to the kitchen to ditch our bowls (I may be the president's daughter, but I'm not a snob) and then hurried back to the dining room. When we arrived everyone was standing and watching the doors that we came through.

"Congratulations Zack!" Everyone was clapping and smiling.

"On what?"

I stepped closer to Zack, and whispered to him, "Forgive them for they know not what they do." I already knew why they were congratulating him.

"Well son, in thanks for you saving my daughters life," my father stepped up to speak, almost as if he were awarding someone in public. "I've decided to grant you with the position of helping my staff in our offices."

"I don't understand?"

"Zack, they're giving you an internship to thank you for saving my life. Say yes and accept, it'll look good on your resume." His mother came up and hugged him, while his father patted him on the back. I stepped away and let them have their moment.

The White House was no longer a place where I could wander around with sweat pants on (hey, I was supposed to be able to act like it was my own home).


	4. Invasion

Chapter Three

I bounced my way down the hall of my school the next Monday. Generally, students weren't allowed to listen to their iPods in school, but like I said being the president's daughter has its perks. As I made my way through the people to the lunchroom, not a single person stopped me. Most of them barely glanced my way; even though I'm the president's daughter, no one here really likes me. After the shine of being the president's daughter wore off, I wasn't really what they had in mind for a friend. I wasn't stuck-up enough to hang out with them, and that was perfectly fine by me.

I bought my lunch, and sat down at the farthest table from the door. I preferred sitting at the back of the lunchroom, and being able to watch the people. I had a few friends at this school, the other ones who were only here because their parents forced them to be. Also, I had the bodyguards my parents forced on me to keep me company as well. My friends filled in a few of the seats around me, and quietly ate their lunches as well. I wasn't often talkative, especially when stuffing my face with food (most schools don't have great food, but the parents at this school pay so much that the school could hire their own professional chef), so they all talked while I listened to music and ate.

I looked over my Calculus homework, while I ate, and prayed that I passed my Chem. test. It wasn't until somebody hit me in the arm that I was startled from my reverie. I looked up, expecting to see one of my friends trying to talk to me, but instead it was one of my bodyguards.

"What?' I wasn't happy to be interrupted by my bodyguards. They were supposed to stay as far away from me as they could, so as not to make me stand out any more than necessary.

"Your parents want you to come home right now. They sent the limo to come pick you up. You need to come now." He packed my books into my bag and shoved them at me.

"What do they want? I can't leave; I have a test in Chemistry!"

"They don't disclose information to me, I'm just a grunt. And you'll have to take the make-up test." That was so not a good idea. My Chem. teacher always made her make-up tests harder than the original ones, and right now I was lucky to pass this one. But it didn't matter, my bodyguard was already walking away, not even looking to make sure I was following. I grabbed my bag and hurried to follow him.

It took about fifteen minutes to get from the school to the White House, but when we got there it was major chaos. I couldn't find my parents anywhere, and my bodyguards were no help because they ditched me as soon as we got there. I hurried to the dining room, to find my mother bent over the table with her eyes closed, and my dad with his arm around her. My mind immediately set off alarms, warning me that something was amiss.

I pushed my way through the people guarding them, and knelt on the floor on the other side of my mom. "What's wrong? What happened?"

"Your mother just received some disturbing news. She needed to assure herself that we were all alright. Most especially you."

"What happened, Mom? I'm alright, what's wrong?"

"I-I just…I got a call—someone told me that…Cori, the guy who tried to kill you is out. He ran away from the detention center where they were keeping him. They don't know where he is." She managed to get through all of this before breaking down again.

"Cori, honey, this means we're going to have to up your security…" My dad spoke now.

"Dad, no. Not again. Every time something happens to you, or you get some threat, you up my security, I already have more bodyguards than I have friends, and you want to add more? No, come on, please?"

"I'm sorry, but I can't have your mother worrying about you everywhere you go. Unless you can suggest a better idea, we have to ad at least two more bodyguards to your patrol."

"Dad, no."

"What about that young man?" My mom had pulled herself together enough to talk. "The one who saved you the first time. I would feel safe if he were with you."

"Mom, I'd rather have more bodyguards." Uh-oh, I had a bad feeling about where this was going.

"No, your mother's right, sweetie." Now my dad was on board with this terrible idea. "I would feel safer with him near you. He was able to keep you safe when your bodyguards weren't. Plus he wouldn't stick out as much as them."

"Really, Dad. The bodyguards are trained for this kind of situation, and Zack's not. I would really feel safer with them than him." If I got stuck with Zack all day everyday, I would have to shoot myself. Then an idea occurred to me. "Wait, he can't come to my school, he's not enrolled. Plus he needs his own education, which he can't get if he's too busy watching me. And how would it look to your supporters if you pulled some guy out of school to watch your fully capable daughter, just because you got a little bit scared. It wouldn't reflect well at all on you." I was just about to bask in my glory when my dad goes:

"That just makes everything that much better. He can enroll in your class; we'll pull some strings to get him in free. That way he can get his own education, while still keeping an eye on you. And nobody needs to know that he's with you. You'll just be befriending the new kid. It'll be perfect."

"But what about his parents? How will they react, when are you going to tell them? You can't really expect that they'll be okay with you transferring their kid just to keep your fully capable daughter safe, do you?" I was grabbing at straws now; I knew Zack's parents would be ecstatic for Zack to go to a good school like mine, especially if it were free, and recommended by the president.

"I'll talk to his parents when he gets here, we'll smooth out any wrinkles then. I'm sure they'll be alright. Now, Cori, no more arguing, the decisions final, now go do your homework."

I was stung by the dismissal, but knew from past experience that arguing with him when he got like this would only get me into trouble. And besides, maybe it would be fun to go to school with Zack.


	5. Momentus Interuptus

Chapter Four

She got away from him the first time, but not again. She won the battle, but the war would be his. Steven had sat two days in the detention center where they had kept him after he was caught. Those two days had been spent planning his escape. He would have her, if it was the last thing he would do, but first he had to get out of jail. Now that he was out, all he had to do was get her. It would be difficult, as it had been the first time he almost had her. But that _boy_ had foiled his efforts—not again. Steven was a man, and no _boys_ were going to stand in the way of his happily ever after.

And it would be a happily ever after – even if Cori wasn't happy. Her feelings were not the important ones in a relationship. In a relationship it was important for the male to feel good, and bigger, stronger, and just better than the female. The females' job in a relationship was to please the male in whatever way they required. For real men that was in sexual ways, for girly men, that was other ways.

And to prove to his club that he was a real man, he had to make Cori succumb to his every desire, whatever they may be. Now that he was hidden in a place that nobody, even his club, would think to find him, he could think and plan his next moves. This time he would have to pay specific attention to detail and make sure he got his way.

I skipped around the corner in my sweatpants and hoodie, listening to Wicked on my iPod, and almost plowed right over Zack.

"Whoa, someone should pull you down, Miss Elphaba," Zack chuckled, reaching down a hand to help me to my feet.

I ignored his hand and stood on my own. "You-you know Wicked?"

"Of course." Wow, nobody knows Wicked, and no guy who does actually admits it unless…

"Are you gay?" I know I just blurted it out, but I'm not good at that whole gay-dar thing, and I'm not subtle either.

"No, why would you ask that?"

"Well…" Now I felt really stupid. "I don't know. It's just that, no guy ever really admits to liking Wicked unless they're gay."

"Does this make me seem gay?" And with that he grabbed me and kissed me. I don't really have a lot of experience with kissing—I mean, don't get me wrong I've kissed guys, just not a lot of them—but he certainly didn't kiss like he was gay. Not that I know what a gay guy kisses like, but I imagine they don't make a girl weak in the knees, and fireworks go off behind her closed eyelids, and her mind go completely blank except for the knowledge of lips on hers, like his kiss did to me. When he finally broke the kiss, I had to struggle to remain vertical.

"Uhmm…no. Not at all." I tried to make it seem like the kiss didn't do anything to me.

"Good, I wouldn't want my reputation to be tarnished." Zack seemed incredibly nonchalant, and cool with the whole kissing thing. I wished I could've been that cool about it. Instead, I couldn't stop thinking about it. "Now, you're dad just told me that my job as an intern is now to protect you, and I'm ready to start. Where to first?"

"Breakfast, then school," I replied, dodging around him to continue skipping down the hall to the kitchen.

"Don't you have to wear some kind of uniform to school?" Zack asked, keeping pace with me as we made our way to the kitchen.

"Yep, but I'm not too cleanly with eating, so I don't put it on until I'm almost ready to go." We made it to the kitchen just as Cooky finished the bacon and popped the toast. I grabbed a plate and a piece of toast on my way to the island in the center of the room. I loved this island because it was right in the middle of all the action, and I had the perfect position to talk to Cooky as he worked. He spooned some of the eggs he was cooking onto my plate as Zack came up next to me with his plate. Cooky spooned some eggs for Zack, and we ate in silence. Cooky isn't really a morning person, so aside from the occasional "Thank you so much for saving Cori's life", Cooky was quiet.

After breakfast, I ran to my room to get dressed, and Zack and I got in the car to go to school. I didn't exactly go to school in a limo, but it was a large black SUV that took me to school everyday, so it stood out just the same. Unfortunately it was part of the whole security thing, so I couldn't get rid of it.

Like expected I had every class with the 'new kid' and was elected to show him around. Which meant that at lunch I had to eat with him, and then show him such things as the library and the computer labs, because we didn't see them during classes.

But it was all okay, because even though I had been dubbed the class freak long ago, I was close with our shiny new kid, so everyone was suddenly my best friend. I finally learned what it was like to be popular, and I was glad I wasn't.

"Well, at least there's a bright side to being stuck with you." I muttered, half to myself, and half to Zack as I made our way to the library.

"Oh, and what's that?"

"I found out what I'm missing by being unpopular. Let me just say, it isn't all it's cracked up to be."

"You're not popular? I would have guessed by the fact that you're the presidents daughter, and judging from the number of girls that have talked to you today, that you were very popular."

"Ha. No. I'm the president's daughter - that automatically puts me at the bottom of the totem pole. All the girls are only talking to me because they think that that'll give them an in with you. It's like you're the shiny new toy that everyone wants to play with, and I'm the little kid who has it. All the guys just want you to know that this is their school, and if you try to take it from them they will rip your head off."

"Ah now I see. So this is the library, huh?" We walked into the library and I waved at the librarians. "Well-acquainted here, are you?" He asked with a smirk.

"Well, without friends my first few weeks, I kinda spent a lot of time here. Speaking of which," at this I turned to the librarians we'd just passed, "do you have the book I asked for?"

"Wait, you know them so well that they get books for you? You really are a loser, aren't you?"

I accepted the book and turned back to Zack. "I had it on hold, idiot."

"What book are you reading?" With that he snatched the book out of my hands and danced out the door, waving it in front of my face. "Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy. Wow, need a life much."

I followed him out the door and grabbed my book back from him, cradling it in my arms to ensure there would be no further book-snatching. "I do not need a life, thank you very much," I replied primly. "I have a life, it just includes reading, something you wouldn't know much about, would you?"

"Sorry. I didn't mean to offend you. So, what's it like going to school here?"

"You've been here for half a day, what's it been like?"

"Well, it was very interesting. But I meant for you. I'm going to have to stick to you like glue, remember. So I want to know what I'm in for. Already I know you read Tolstoy, so I'm thinking this'll be fun." The sarcasm was clear in his voice as he said the last part. "I know you don't have many friends, so are you just one of those loner-like people?"

For some reason I didn't exactly want to tell him how much of a loser I was at this school. "Yeah, pretty much." So I didn't like talking about it, but Claire Perony had no qualms about it. "Nobody really likes her much, but she does have a few friends. And I guess to some it's not about quantity but quality." If I weren't the presidents daughter, I would have called her so many cuss words, but that would have caused a commotion, and would have summoned many news reporters t cover the "President's Daughter's Big Blow-up."

"Thanks, um…sorry I forgot your name?" Zack said, without actually looking at her.

"Oh, Claire. Claire Perony. And everybody knows me, so if you want me to introduce you around, I'd be happy. I bet I could show you somewhere better than the library."

"Actually, Claire, Cori was the one chosen to show me around, and plus we have all our classes together, so it would be more prudent to stick with her."

"Yeah, and if you don't mind, I still have another side of the school to show him?" I finally managed to find an out from Claire. It was her fault I was the social pariah I was today.

Zack and I walked away, and I led him through the school to the auditorium. We were silent until we were out of earshot of Claire.

"Well, she obviously doesn't like you." Zack said finally to break the silence.

"The feeling's mutual. Her science project last year, was to test whether or not alcoholism was genetic. It would have won and gone to the national science fair if I hadn't protested her use of guinea pigs under the condition that it was animal cruelty. She was forcing two to become addicted to alcohol, and then forcing them to mate and testing their offspring by offering them a bottle with alcohol, and another bottle with water, and seeing which was emptier by the end of the day. Then doing that same experiment, but with water. I felt that the guinea pigs were being mistreated, and I won, she didn't get the award, and the runner-up went to nationals. She's hated me ever since, and I've hated her." We were approaching the auditorium now, which was right next to the cafeteria. You could hear all the people yelling and laughing raucously.

"Have you ever regretted not just letting her get away with it? I mean, at the price of not being hated at school?" Zack seemed truly interested in the answer.

"No, not really. I've always been a believer in sticking to my principles no matter what the opponent. It just never occurred to me, during all of that, that I might get a better outcome for myself if I just let it all go. I was so set on making Claire see the light, that I never realized she could ruin my social life. But knowing now what would happen, I still wouldn't change a thing."

"But still, they were just guinea pigs."

"Yeah, but they were still living creatures. How would you feel if you were forced to drink only alcohol until you were addicted and then forced to make babies with someone you had possibly never met before and all for someone's glory in a science fair? Add to the equation that you were incapable of defending yourself because this someone was a thousand times bigger than you? Just because guinea pigs don't have voices of their own, doesn't mean we can treat them like test subjects. And before you say anything, I'm not telling you that we should treat them as equals, but guinea pigs are not test subjects. If you need a test subject, use something that can offer its services voluntarily, not one that you have to force." That was more than I ever said to anyone, even about animal rights.

"Okay then. So what exactly goes on here?" We had reached the auditorium by now.

"Oh, the usual. Lectures by famous scientists and Nobel prize winners. The occasional orchestra concert, and plays from the drama department, but not very often."

"So this school isn't very into the whole arts program, huh?"

"Nope. Why do you think I don't try hard to fit in? I'm an artist, art is my life, and for the people who go here, school is their life. I'd forgo school, and academics, if it meant I could follow a life of art. Of course my father doesn't think that's an appropriate route for the president's daughter to follow, so now I'm here."

"Well that's a bummer. I would think that a school this prestigious would realize that arts can improve the academic performance of their students."

"Oh, I think you'll find that the students here have incredible academic performance, and don't need any extra boosts." I wasn't one of those students; that was why my parents sent me here in the first place.

"So why do you go here, exactly? I mean, you don't fit in, you don't like it, and they don't pay particular attention to the kind of life you've chosen to follow."

"I didn't exactly have a choice. My parents sent me here hoping that I would see the wrongness in my choice, and choose to follow an academic life. They figured that by coming here, and being surrounded by all these academic-minded, arts-hating students would help me become more like them, and therefore more like their ideal 'president's daughter'."

"Got it. So where is your favorite place in here?"

"Not here. It's in the art department in the basement. But we don't have enough time to see it before the end of lunch. And if we're late for Chemistry, the teacher will give me detention, and then I won't be able to show you my favorite place, because I'll be writing 'I will not be late for class' on the chalkboards one hundred times."

Zack wasn't pleased with my change of subject, but when the early bell rang, he saw reason and followed me to class.

The last four periods were a blur; a lot of "Hi this is Zack, he's a transfer from Bell Adams High," and "Oh Zack, if you need anyone to show you around I can, I know every part of this school like the back of my hand." I was glad when the final bell rang, and everyone cleared out for their Tuesday nights of mad study dates, and Discovery Channel. I on the other hand was not doing anything important with my life, and led Zack down the stairs to the art department.

"Where exactly are you taking me?" Zack queried, as I led him farther through the dank boiler room. "You know if I annoyed you this much, you could've just told me, you know, instead of taking me down here to kill me." That finally cracked me.

"I'm not taking you down here to kill you, stupid. You asked me at lunch to show you my favorite place in the school, its way down here. But don't worry, there's civilization at the end of the tunnel, can you see the light through that door? That's the art room; my favorite place is through there."

"You like spending time in the dungeons? Maybe that has something to do with you not fitting in here."

"Just shut-up and wait." This was why I don't generally bring new people down to see the art room. I dragged Zack through the rest of the boiler room, and into the art room. Then I grabbed his hand and pulled him farther into the art room. And through the art room, and into the art closet. Then I opened a secret door and led him into the secret room through there. Like always, my secret service agents waited in the closet, but outside the secret door (after checking to make sure the room was secure).

I stopped just inside the door, and let Zack look around. The room was a few feet above the bottom level, so the roof peeked out of the ground. There were windows in the ceiling where the roof peeked out, and they let in enough light to make out the dim room without the use of electricity. All around the room were mirrors and stained-glass windows from when the school had a chapel. The light from the windows cast on the stained-glass caused multiple little rainbows and splotches of color that were reflected in the mirrors. The effect was incredible. There was a desk in one corner, where I kept some of my works when they were finished, and an easel next to that with a half-finished painting hung on it.

When Zack turned back to me after he finished looking, I realized I was still holding his hand. Quickly I let go, and stepped away.

"So, what do you think? It's not much, but I like it." I was suddenly nervous, as if my life depended on his verdict.

"I think it's awesome. Is that your painting over there?" Zack pointed to the one painting I had taped to the wall above the desk.

"Yeah. I painted it my first day here. I put it up to kind of signify that this was my little area. Not that anyone would ever come here anyway." Zack wasn't actually listening to me anymore. Instead he was looking through the desk, pulling out papers, and looking at my sketches. If it had been anyone else I would have yelled at them and told them to get out of my privacy, but he wasn't looking at them critically, or telling me what I could have done or fixed. In fact he wasn't even looking at them anymore. I mean, his hands were sifting through them, but his eyes were on mine, and he had this funny look on his face. Almost as if he were just seeing me for the first time. As he looked at me, it was almost as if we were having a moment. But the moment was ruined by my secret service agents telling us we needed to leave. I don't know whether this turn of events was fortunate or unfortunate. The interruption seemed to break us out of our trance.

The ride home was très awkward.


	6. Revelations

Chapter Five

Part of Zack's assignment as my bodyguard was that, even when we were in the White House, he had to accompany me everywhere. Even when I went to my room to do homework. But the door had to stay open, in accordance with my parents' rules.

I had never had a boy in my room before—even back home, before my dad became president. My friends had made it seem awkward, but I'd never actually tried it for myself. I didn't understand what all the hype was about, I mean it wasn't all that bad having Zack walk around and survey my room. I wasn't at all nervous, seeing the contrast between the girliness of my room and his masculinity…

Oh, who was I kidding? I was a complete and total wreck seeing Zack in my room. He walked around as if he owned the place, stopping everywhere to look at everything: my vanity and all the pictures of my friends stuck in the mirror; my desk with the Dell laptop and the background with me and my parents on the White House front lawn; my canopy bed with the purple shades and sheets; my cardboard boxes that held the music I didn't have anywhere to unpack; and finally my dresser with my jewelry boxes. When he stopped at my dresser, I immediately knew what he was looking at – the box the contained all my handmade stuff, like my bottle cap necklace, and my Lego bracelet. I had a lot of things like that, I didn't believe in throwing things away, especially if you can make it into something else. So I had an entire jewelry box made of the broken glass from a colored vase my mom broke. I had a necklace made of the precious stones you can get from the Renaissance Festival, and an anklet from ribbons left over from a basket party my parents threw. My favorite was the bracelet made from the tab openers on soda can, and that was exactly what Zack was looking at.

"Did you make all of this stuff?"

"Only the stuff in the colored glass jewelry box. The glass used to be a colored vase, but my mom dropped it and broke it. All the stuff in there is stuff my parents would have thrown away, but I insisted they let me have it."

"Do you ever actually where it?"

"Of course. Well, if I have nothing that goes with it, I'll give it away, but generally I keep it and wear it."

"That's really cool." Zack was giving me that look again, the same look he gave me in the secret art room.

"Thanks." I was having trouble breathing now, and my voice was a little bit husky. "It's, um, part of my, um, save the world campaign. If I recycle this stuff, it doesn't become trash, and therefore doesn't go to the dump and get put into the environment. It's kind of what I want to do when I grow up."

"That's really cool," he repeated, still giving me that look.

"What?" The silence was getting to me. And his look was making me really nervous. Not to mention the fact that he was a boy, and he was in my room, looking at my stuff, and we'd already established that he wasn't gay, and that I was attracted to him.

"Nothing. It's just that I'm feeling really…really attracted to you right now. There's just something about a girl who knows how to care." Zack was standing in front of me now, still holding my metal tab bracelet in his right hand, while his left hand was reaching for mine.

I opened my mouth to say something, but my breath caught as he slipped my bracelet on my wrist. I wanted to look down, at my hand, or left or right, or anywhere, but I couldn't tear my eyes away from Zack's. They were so deep, and green with gold flecks in them. Slowly I realized what was going to happen, just as I realized Zack was slowly leaning towards me. I took a deep breath, and readied myself for Zack's kiss.

Despite my preparation, when Zack's lips touched mine for the first time, I was still knocked off balance, and when he leaned in and deepened the kiss, I was afraid I would fall over. Zack backed me up against the wall and put his hands around my waist. I wrapped my arms around his neck, and pulled myself up higher to better reach his lips. I don't know how long we stood there kissing, but eventually Greta needed our attention and cleared her throat. I forgot that Zack didn't actually live with us. His parents would come over every night for dinner and then Zack would go home with them. And right now it was time for us to get ready for dinner.

"Dinner is in ten minutes. Zack, your parents are in the living room downstairs if you want to talk to them alone. Now I'll leave you two to it." With one last look and a wink, she left, closing the door behind her.

"I think I'm reconsidering this whole intern thing." Zack leaned his forehead against mine and breathed his words. His breath smelled like spearmint gum.

"What, why?"

"Because I can't do this," and he leaned forward and planted a short kiss on my lips, "if I'm your bodyguard, can I?"

"Um, I don't see why not. There's nothing in the intern bylaws, and that's what you are. Officially I mean. And nobody can fire you for doing something unofficially." I don't think a word I said actually made any sense, but he seemed to understand every bit.

"Okay. But right now we have to go have dinner with our parents."

"Speaking of parents; aren't they the ones who were trying to set us up together anyways? So shouldn't they be happy that we're going out? Are we actually going out?" We never really established what would happen now. Maybe he didn't want a commitment, or maybe he just wasn't the kind of guy who actually went out with a girl.

"Well, technically we haven't actually gone out, so I don't think 'going out' is the right term, but we're definitely a couple. A couple that's going to be in a lot of trouble if we don't get our butts downstairs for dinner soon. Our ten minute warning was twenty minutes ago."

"Oh crap."

Dinner was…interesting. Our parents were very happy with our announcement, and insisted that we eat in the Rose Room alone together, while they ate in the dining room, probably planning our future together.

"I guess this can count as our first date, can't it?" Zack asked as we sat down at the table by the window.

"You know, in all my life, with all my protests and everything, I never thought I'd be dating a guy that my parents love so much, and set me up with."

"I'm sorry, are you disappointed with me? Do we need to break-up?" Zack asked, with a crooked knowing smile on his face. Damn, I loved that smile.

"No, of course not. I really like you; I just never thought that my taste in guys would be so appeasing to my parents. I'm more disappointed with myself than I am with you." I smiled shyly at him, and focused back on my food.

"Hey, why…uh, never mind."

"What?" Now he had my full attention.

"Nothing, I said never mind." Now he looked uncomfortable.

"No, tell me. I promise I won't laugh."

"Promise? Alright…why is that Steven guy obsessed with you?"

"Umm…it's kind of a long story. But it started way back in the fifth grade…

**********

"He was one of those guys who every girl had a huge crush on--mind you this was elementary school so you liked a guy because he looked okay, and wasn't a total troll—and I was never one of those girls who followed the crowd, and to me Steve was a total troll. But he had a crush on me, and I never really liked him back. Have you ever read those Horrible Harry books, more specifically the one where Harry chases the girl he likes around the playground screaming how he wants to kiss her and everything? Well that's what he did to me. All the girls at the school just thought I was lucky, and I just thought he was kidding; he was one of those guys who could do that, but not be serious.

"Then we all went to sixth grade, and met all the cute guys, and girls. It was the time that we were all learning how to flirt and all that; when sitting with a guy at lunch meant that you were going out, even if you never actually went out with them. We were friends at this time, he wasn't such a goon, but I never really thought about him that way. I never cared about what everyone else thought about me, so I didn't care that they were all whispering about how I sat with him at lunch every day, and never realized that that was what he thought we were doing.

"In the seventh grade he asked me out for real, to go on a date and everything, and I figured why not? So he got his brother to pick me up, and he took me to a movie, and to dinner. After that we walked around this lake that was by where we lived, and held hands and all that. I actually kind of liked it, and him and all that, so we went on more dates, we were definitely going out. We went out all through middle school, and then when we started high school. But halfway through my first semester we started having some issues. My aunt died, and I accused him of cheating on me with these girls—yes, more than one—that I didn't like, and we just kind of grew apart. Or, I guess, more like, I grew apart from him, I never found out if he did cheat on me, but I always thought he did, he wasn't there for me when my aunt died, and then midterms came, and we just weren't together anymore. Technically we never actually broke up, but I figured since in a month I hadn't seen or heard from him, it was over.

"So I started going out more, I had other friends, and they tried to set me up, and I went out on dates, and it was never really a problem. I saw him with other girls, and he saw me with other guys, and there was never a problem. Then I met this guy that I really liked, and we started going out; at first it was casual, but then it got more serious. I didn't think it would be a problem for Steve because we hadn't actually talked to each other since we…stopped going out. So this guy and I started dating, and stuff. Then in the tenth grade he took me to this look-out over the lake, and we were making out and stuff…well, not really stuff, just making out—I wouldn't go any further than that.

"But Steven, I guess, had been watching me and noticed that I was getting serious about him, so he followed us to this look-out. You know how when you're making out in a car with all the windows rolled up, the windows get foggy and you can't see out of or into them? I guess Steven was looking in on us and got tired or upset that he couldn't see what we were doing and make sure we weren't having sex, so he came up to the car. He started banging and yelling right outside our car, and then he found a stick or something and started beating up the car. He broke out the driver's side window, and the windshield, and the passenger side window, and started yelling and swinging the bat, like a madman.

"I was scared out of my mind, and the guy I was with got out and tried to reason with him. Someone called the cops, but we were on the outskirts of the town, and it would take them like twenty minutes to get there, so Carl, the guy I was with, tries to reason with Steve and get him to put the stick down. But Steve just kept yelling and screaming, and then he swung the stick at Carl, who ducked. Carl grabbed the stick and threw it away, but then Steve started swinging, and they got into a big fight. Steve was a good fighter, but Carl was better, so by the time the cops got there, Carl had pinned Steve on the ground.

"After that Carl was kind of freaked out, he didn't want a relationship with baggage, so we broke up, but that was okay, I kind of understood. But the next day, Steven told everyone that Carl and I had had sex and that we had done more dirty and disgusting things in the car for everyone to see. In the town where I grew up, it was general knowledge that people had sex, and that even us teenagers did it, but it was also general knowledge that you didn't talk about it, and you didn't do it where people could see you. And if people heard about what you did, it was a problem, and you generally became an outcast. Sometimes, depending on the person's social standing, you could overlook these blunders. I wasn't one of those people. Before I knew it, the entire school was talking about me and whispering about me behind my back, and some even to my face, and a lot of the people that I thought were my friends were part of them.

"By the time my dad had been elected president, Steven had effectively alienated me from general polite society, leaving me with only him to go to. But at this point in time, I didn't really want to talk to him, so I kind of just ignored him…

**********

"I figured once I left, he would find someone new and move on, but I guess he didn't. Thanks, by the way, for saving me that day."

"It was no problem." My apology seemed to embarrass him.

"Yeah, except for the whole waving the gun part. But, why exactly were you there in the first place?"

"He wouldn't have really hurt you, he's too obsessed with you, he just wanted you to be scared."

"You still never told me why you were there in the first place."

"It's not that important."

"It was important enough that you were in school on a Saturday. Why don't you want to tell me?"

"It's just…kind of embarrassing to be saying to the president's daughter."

"What? I mean its not like you were seeing a drug dealer or something." Complete silence was my only response. "Oh, my gawd. You were seeing a drug dealer!"

"But, not for the reason that you think. I wasn't there to buy drugs."

"Well, if you weren't there to buy drugs, what were you doing in a dark classroom on a Saturday with a drug dealer?"

"It's a long story…

**********

"You see, when I started high school I didn't have a lot of friends. My parents had just moved us here and I didn't really know anybody, so I was desperate for friends. The first person I met was a druggie, but I didn't know that when I became his friend. I went to this party halfway through my freshman year, where there were all these smokers and drinkers. One of the games that they played was one where they filled enough cups for the people there with soda, and spiked one of them with drugs. Then they mixed all the drinks around so we didn't know which one had the stuff, and then they passed them out. I happened to get the spiked one, and got a really killer high. It was awesome, and after that I wanted it more and more. So I got in really deep with this drug dealer, saw him like every other night for some more, and was snorting it almost every three hours, just to get through the day.

"Then, one day I saw this beautiful girl, on the street, and realized what was happening to me. I realized that any self-respecting girl—and those were the only kind I was interested in dating—wouldn't date a guy who was addicted to drugs. I took a good, sober, look at myself and my life, and realized that before we moved, if I had met me, I wouldn't have wanted anything to do with myself. I realized that my parents would kill me if they found out what I had been up to, and they would be fully in the right. So about six months ago, I told my parents, and checked into a rehab center. I've been clean ever since, but I owed my dealer a lot of money….

**********

"So I was there on Saturday paying him back, but he didn't show, and I saved you instead." Zack reached across the table for my hand. "It was worth it. And I heard that the dealer got arrested for possession and distribution, so I don't have to worry."


	7. Stolen!

Chapter Six

The next morning I got up a half hour early. I stayed in my pajamas and wandered about my room. I saw the first lights of day coming through my window, and set up my easel so I was looking out the window. I painted for over an hour, and it wasn't until Greta burst into my room that I even realized I was going to be late. I dressed in record time, and made it downstairs in time to grab a piece of toast and run to the limo waiting outside for me. Zack was already inside when I got in, with my bag, and books.

"Fashionably late as always," he said, as he handed my stuff to me.

"Shut-up, I was painting," I stuck my tongue out at him as I arranged my books in my bag, and settled down. I ran my fingers through my hair, grimacing at the tangled mess on top of my head, and settled with just pulling it into a messy bun. "I lost track of time."

"Oh, I thought you were just protesting school," Zack replied, teasing me.

"Well, maybe."

School was no different from the day before. Everyone was either pretending to be my best friend, or trying to get in with Zack. Either way, I didn't like it, and by lunch I was ready to runaway. I sat through history after lunch next to Zack and tried to listen to the teacher teach about the Second World War but was constantly distracted by the furtive glances towards Zack, and the constant note passing that crossed my desk. I was incredibly surprised when one addressed to me landed on my desk. I looked around, but no one was paying attention, I checked to make sure the teacher wasn't looking either, and then opened it.

_How bout we ditch this place after class? I'm kind of bored out of my mind._

_Zack_

I smiled to myself before I wrote back.

_But what about my bodyguards?_

_Cori_

_I think I can get an in with one of them. So what do you say?_

_World War II boring you that much, huh?_

_Nah, I'm not really into history._

_Gotcha. So, where would we go?_

_Hmm, I know a place._

_How would we get there?_

_Ever heard of a little thing called the Metro?_

_Yes, but what if somebody recognizes me?_

_That's what I'm here for. We'll come up with a good disguise._

_What if we get caught?_

_We're going to get caught passing notes if you don't make up your mind soon. Castor's looked our way three times already._

_Alright, alright. But if anything happens, I'm blaming it on you._

_What?!?!? You have free will you know!_

_Hmm…how's this? "Gee, Dad, I tried to tell him we should have stayed in school, but he kept pushing. And I know you've always told me to listen to my bodyguards, and that's what he is isn't it? So I listened to him. I know I was wrong, but I tried to do right by you, I was just too confused…" I think he'll buy it._

_You're a bitch._

_I know._

The rest of the class went pretty quickly; I kept imagining what we would do once we got out of the school.

At the end of class Zack grabbed my hand and dragged me down to the locker banks at the end of the hall. These lockers weren't used because there were too many lockers and not enough people to use them.

Zack pushed me back against the lockers and held me there, kissing me. I laughed to myself at the cliché-ness of it all. He pulled back a little and asked me what I was laughing at. I leaned back in to kiss him.

"No, tell me," he asked against my lips.

"I was just thinking about how cliché this was. I mean, distressed girl gets frustrated until handsome boyfriend pulls her out of class and they make out in the unused locker banks. Total cliché."

"Well, if you don't want to, we could go to French," he said, pulling closer, and backing me up harder against the lockers.

"No thanks, I'd rather be here with you," I said in French.

"Okay, stay here, let me see if the coast is clear," he said, sneaking around the corner as the bell rang, making sure there was no one in the hallway. "Alright, let's go." He grabbed my hand again, and led me out the back door of the school.

We stepped into the bright sunlight, and followed the side of the school until we reached the street that ran in front of the school. We walked down the street until we reached a metro station, and then we went down, Zack buying the tickets. We stepped out of sight by the bathrooms, so we could work something out as a disguise for me. I took off my blouse so I was wearing a white tank top, and rolled up my skirt a little. Zack handed me his hoodie and unbuttoned his own shirt. I pulled the shirt out of his pants, so it hung loose, and he zipped the hoodie up halfway. Then he pulled the ponytail out of my hair, and let it hang out around my face and pulled the hoodie on over top of it. After he was done, it was difficult to recognize me under the hair, and large jacket.

We stepped on the train when it pulled into the station and took a seat at the back of the car, facing away from all the people. A couple of stops later, Zack pulled me off the train and we went up to the street. He grabbed my hand and led me across the street, into a building there.

The building was dark, and quiet, as if the shop was closed. We went through the store and up a set of stairs in the back. I got a weird feeling as we went up the stairs. "Are you sure we're allowed in here?"

"Shh, come on, we won't get in trouble, even if we are caught. But we won't get caught if you're quiet until I say." He opened a door at the top of the stairs, and we stepped into a big open room. The room was shaped in an octagon, with eight walls. The four walls facing the door were made of large windows; on the other three walls were framed photographs. Set up in the middle of the room was an easel set. The easel was set on the end of what looked like a bench; to draw on the easel, one had to straddle the bench facing the easel. In front of the windows was a tripod with a camera on top. The room was beautiful; the windows let in so much light, that electric lights weren't needed.

"How'd you find this place?"

"Like it?"

"Like it, I love it! It's beautiful. But what is it?"

"My parents own the store downstairs; they sell guitars and records and stuff like that. When they got the building, someone was living up here, but he moved out because the store made too much noise for him to sleep. So when he moved out, I had to help him move his stuff, when the room was empty I realized how awesome the room was and convinced my parents to get this floor as well. Now we own the whole building, but I'm the only one who ever comes up here."

I walked over to one of the walls with photographs. "Who took all of these?"

"I did. I like photography, and my grandmother taught me how to develop my own photos. There's a darkroom behind that wall."

The room was amazing. I felt Zack's eyes on me from where he stood in the center of the room, and had a vague flashback to when he was in my room the day before. Only now I was the one invading his space. When I looked back at him, he was giving me the same look as he did when he held my bracelet. "What?"

"Nothing. It's just…weird that's all. I've never shown anyone this room, I thought it would be weird showing it to you, but it's not. It's…different, kind of relieving. I like the way you look in here," he crossed the room and stood in front of me. "I set up the easel so you would be able to draw or paint or whatever. Normally it's just a place for me to come and think, or develop my photos."

"So you planned this? You planned on taking me out of school and bringing me here?" I asked as he slipped his arms around my waist.

"How do you think I got us past your bodyguards? I convinced them that taking you out of school, for a day with no one bothering you would help you. They helped me make sure there was no one watching us as we snuck out of the school."

"That's the sweetest thing anyone's ever done for me," I said, kissing him lightly on the lips.

"So come on, I didn't just bring you here to make out; I brought you here to draw, now go." He pushed me towards the easel. I pulled my art bag out of my messenger bag, and sat down on the bench. I grabbed a pencil and started sketching.

I got so caught up in drawing that I didn't even notice the time pass until Zack tapped me on the shoulder. I jumped about five feet in the air, and looked around. I felt like I'd been asleep for the past two hours, not sitting here drawing.

"Whoa, there, calm down. It's about time that school would be getting out, and we've got to get back to the limo in time to get home or your parents will be suspicious."

I grabbed my art supplies and put the back in my messenger bag before following Zack down the stairs and out of the store. We made it to the metro station before I noticed someone was following us. Thinking it was just someone who recognized me as the president's daughter I started to slow down and take my hood off when Zack grabbed my hand and pulled me along faster. "What's wrong?"

"That guy's been following us since we left the school. I didn't think he was a threat until now. He's got a gun in his jacket."

We made it down past the bathrooms, almost to the platform when I felt a tug on my bag. I thought I had caught it on a trash can or something, so I turned to free it when something hit my across the face and I went sprawling backward into Zack, who turned to see what I was doing.

"Hey man, calm down. We just want to get on the train," Zack said, helping me to my feet. My hood had fallen down, and I pushed my hair out of the way so I could see, and then I recognized Steven.

"Steven?" I grabbed Zack's shirt as I realized what was happening.

"I've got you now, Cori. You can't run from me, I have a gun, and I'm damn good with my aim. Now, just walk in front of me, as if nothing's wrong. If you so much as try to talk to someone else, I won't hesitate to use this gun." He gestured with his gun to start walking, and then put it back in his jacket pocket. Zack grabbed my hand and we stepped in front of Steven and started walking, "No, no hand-holding. Just walk."

We walked out onto the street and got into a broken down Camry parked on the curb. Steven got in the front seat and handed us blindfolds and handcuffs. "Blindfold and handcuff yourselves. We're going for a drive." Zack helped me tie the blindfold around my head, and then put his own on; I tightened the handcuffs around my wrists, and heard Zack's click together as well. Then I heard the car start, and we pulled out into traffic. I tried to count the number or turns, and the time we spent on one street, but I lost count after a while.

A while later we pulled to a stop, and I heard Steven get out of the car; I heard mumbling outside the car, and then someone opened the door and grabbed my arm to haul me out of the car. I stumbled on the sidewalk as he pushed and shoved me until I was inside a building. I was led down a hallway and then down a set of stairs. The room that I was led into was damp, and smelled like dirt and sweat; when they removed my blindfold I saw that I was in a basement, with no doors, and a window at the top of an eight foot wall that was too small for me to fit through. I was led to the wall where my handcuffs were attached to a chain on the wall, and Zack's handcuffs were attached to a similar chain on the wall.

Steven left us in the basement and went up the stairs to the other floor. We heard the murmurings of two other people before we heard footsteps coming down the stairs. Steven stepped back into the room, followed by two other men who looked like skinheads.

"Oooh. I can see why you like her," one of the skinheads said, stroking my hair and face. I turned my face away from him. "Ah, she's a feisty one. She'll be fun to break. If you need help, I'll be happy to lend a hand."

"Thanks, Shawn, but I think I'll be good. I've got a plan this time," Steven turned to the other skinhead and whispered something in his ear. The skinhead gave me a look then turned to Zack.

"What's he here for?"

"He was with her when I found her, I had no other choice but to take him as well, otherwise he'd be back at the White House alerting everyone that I had taken her," Steven said. "I'll have to find some way to get rid of him, but for now, that's not important. For now, I just want to have dinner with Cori. Alone."


	8. Cliche

Chapter 7

I tried to refuse Steven, but when he pulled out his gun, all protests died. He handed me a black dress and stiletto heels and told me to be wearing them when he came to get me in five minutes; his tone told me that refusing was not an option and he unlocked my chains so I could change. He left the room, then, and his skinhead followers went too. After the door closed Zack and I heard the sound of a key in a lock, and then two sets of footsteps walked away. One of the guards stayed outside the door, presumably to guard us from leaving.

Once they were gone, I turned to Zack, pleading. He tried to touch my face, but his hands were bound by the handcuffs, and he couldn't. "I'm sorry," he whispered, "I will get us out of here, I promise. Just give me time to think."

"I know, I trust you. I'm scared though, but I guess I should change before he comes back." I held the dress up and motioned for Zack to turn around while I changed. I stripped off my uniform, and pulled the dress over my bra and underwear. The dress was a size too small, pulling tightly around my mid-section, and pushing my chest together tighter than anything I had worn before. It flowed down lightly skimming over my backside, and swirling out to just above my knees. I guess it looked good on me from the way Zack stared when I finally let him turn around, but I couldn't see it, because there was no mirror in the room where we were kept.

Five minutes later Steven came back into the room, and took my hand to lead me out. I snatched my hand from his and crossed my arms over my chest as I followed him out the door. As we passed through the halls I made sure to memorize the landmarks and turns we passed and made, in case I had to go this way again on my own. He led me down the halls to swinging doors that led into a dark dining room. If my situation hadn't been so frightening I would have cracked a joke about the extensive amount of mood-setting he had taken in the room.

The lights were low, and there were candles on a table that was set for two. There was a vase of Lilies of the Valley in between the candles, my favorite flowers were Calla Lilies, but Steven had never cared for the distinction between the two. There was another door coming into the room, and next to it was a large canvas painting that I vaguely recognized as one of my own from when I lived in California. Steven led me to my chair and pulled it out for me, and went to sit in his own chair at the other end of the table. He snapped his fingers and immediately one of his skinhead clones placed a plate of food in front of me, and one in front of Steven. The food vaguely resembled Fettuccini Alfredo with shrimp in it, and while I'm not a full on vegetarian, I can't stand the idea of eating food that has a face on it, which is basically every seafood known to man.

I grimaced at the shrimp, and pushed the plate away, "I don't eat seafood."

"You will eat it," Steven said sharply, "While you are here you will learn to do as I say, when I say. Now eat your food."

"I told you, I don't eat seafood. And I don't plan on doing anything you or anyone else here tells me to do." I pushed the plate away from me, and when the skinhead put it back in front of me I knocked it off the table like a child. Both the skinhead and Steven rushed for the plate as it hit the ground, but neither of them could catch it in time. The skinhead cleaned up the plate and food as Steven went into the kitchen for something. While both backs were turned I grabbed the steak knife Steven had set my place at the table with and shoved it down the front of my dress (it was the only place where Steven wouldn't find it).

Steven came back from the kitchen with another plate in his hand. When he set it down in front of me I recognized the same Alfredo that I had just knocked off the table, with the shrimp still in it. This too, I knocked off the table, childishly, but effectively as neither the skinhead nor Steven saw it coming and it splattered all over the floor next to the table. This time I got more of a reaction than the first time, as Steven reached over the table and backhanded me across the face. The hit was hard and unexpected and it knocked me back in my chair, and drew blood from my lip.

I was still trying to dab the blood from my lip with my napkin when Steven grabbed me by the arm and hauled me away from the table. He dragged me out of the room and down the hall to another room. This second room was completely white, with no furniture or anything on the walls. Normally white wouldn't have bothered me, but there was something about the too-bright whiteness of the walls and too-barren emptiness of the room that made it feel … bad, ugly, wrong. Bad things happened in this room, I could feel it, and something bad was going to happen to me if I stayed in this room. _But what do I do? _I wondered. The knife was still in the front of my dress, but I couldn't get to it with Stevens hand gripping my arms so tightly behind my back.

Steven closed the door to the room behind him, and threw me down onto the ground. Scared, I rolled into the corner of the room, and kept my back to him as I tried to fish the knife out of my tight dress. I am not a busty girl, but in that dress it felt like it, and probably looked like it too, and that knife was not coming out easily.

I could feel Steven stalking up behind me and because I was in the corner I had nothing to do but turn and face him. He raised his hand, and backhanded me across the face again, this time forcing me closer to the wall and further into the corner.

"How dare you embarrass me in front of my men?" Steven turned and paced to the other end of the room. While his back was turned I once again tried to shimmy the knife out of my dress but it was no use. The knife and fallen between my breasts to the tightest part of the dress, the torso, and there was no way I was getting to it, short of taking off the dress, which I absolutely refused to do. I would just have to wait for it to find its own way out, but in the meantime I had to find some other way to defend myself.

Steven turned back to pace towards me again, and I remembered to horrible stiletto heels he had made me wearing. The damn things were painful as no other, but they were long and sharp, which was as much of a weapon as I would need to get Steven to leave me alone. I had known Steven most of my life, and he might be a loud talker, but he was all bark and no bite, as far as I was concerned. He had gotten into a few fights in middle school, but nothing serious, and he was always the one dubbed as the loser. He didn't look like he had buffed up all that much since I had last seen him, but judging from the last time I had seen him he was pretty strong. Not quite as strong as me, and not quite as intimidating without the gun, but still. He paced back over until he was right in front of me, and then he stopped. He still looked like he would hit me if I provoked him, but he also looked hurt, like by throwing the food on the ground I had personally wounded his feelings. Well good, he deserved it.

"I worked so hard, brought you here, tried to make you comfortable, and provide food for you that I thought you would enjoy, and you respond by throwing it on the floor?" Either he was a really good actor, or he actually thought there was any way that I would have enjoyed my time there.

"Worked hard to bring me here? Tried to make me comfortable? Food that I would like? You waved a gun in my face, chained me to a wall, and tried to force me to eat seafood, which I have _never_ eaten. You did none of this to please me or to comfort me or anything. You did all of this because you were pissed that I wouldn't go out with you and you need to prove you worth. Well how about this, you're worthless!" I spat the last words as harshly as I could, and he responded by slapping me once again across the face. By the time I got out of here, my face would be black and blue.

He turned and paced back to the other end of the room, and while his back was turned I quickly unstrapped my heels, and held them behind my back. Behind my back I broke the heel off of one of them, and threw the rest away from me. Steven didn't react to me throwing the shoes away and just turned back to pace the room back towards me. I palmed the heel, holding the thickest part in my hand, with the thin sharp point sticking out of my closed fist. When he was in front of me once again, he stepped closer to me, forcing me even further into the corner, until my back was against the wall. But even then he kept coming, closer and closer until he was touching me, pushing me back as far into the corner as humanly possible, and even more so. I gripped the heel in my fist as tightly as possible, close to my leg so the swirling fabric of my dressed hid it if Steven happened to look down.

But he didn't look like he was going to be looking down anytime soon, he was staring intently at my cleavage. The tight dress pushed my breasts tighter together and higher up than any normal teenage girl should be wearing, and his chest pressed into mine so that they were practically bursting out of the dress. It was disgusting to watch both at him and at myself, breathing quick and hard and making my cleavage even more noticeable. He stared down at my chest, and then up into my eyes, trying, I'm sure, to smother me with his own, to make me swoon and beg for him, but it didn't work. When he leaned into kiss me, I kept my eyes open and staring at the ceiling; when he tried to shove his tongue into my mouth, I kept my lips tightly shut; but when he tried to fondle my ass is when I shoved my heel into his chest. The three inch heel did not go very deep into his chest, and probably would not cause life-threatening damage, but it was enough to make Steven cry out in pain, loud enough that his skinheads came barging into the room and pulled me away from him.

When I was shoved back into the chain room, Zack was asleep. I checked the watch on his wrist as I was chained back to the wall and saw that I had been away for over three hours. My uniform had been taken away, and I was left in the dress, with no shoes now that I had thrown them away. There was a tray by the door, that held a plate with scraps of bread and a cup with drops of water. _Well at least one of us got to eat_ I thought as I sat down against the wall and tried to sleep. Eventually I managed to fall asleep, but it wasn't very fitful or comfortable.

The next morning I woke up with my head on Zack's lap, and Zack's chained hands stroking my face.

"I'll kill him. I'll kill him I swear to God."

"Unh," _Oh my God, what if I have morning breath?_ I sat up straight, then remembered what happened last night. "Ahh." I winced as I touched my face, remembering just how hard and how many times Steven slapped me last night. "All because of stupid pasta."

"What?"

"I said: 'all because of stupid pasta.' I wouldn't eat his stupid Shrimp Alfredo, and he hit me. Twice. Then he hit me a third time for yelling at him. I probably deserved the third one, but _ow!_"

"I'll kill him. I swear to God, I'll murder the poor bastard. Your dad is going to kill me for letting this happen."

"So what exactly are you more upset about, the fact that you convinced me to cut school and we ended up getting kidnapped, or the fact that you failed in your duty as my bodyguard? Because frankly, I think you should be more upset about the fact that this is the same psycho who tried to rape me less than a month ago, only now he has friends!" I don't know why I was so upset with Zack, but for some reason, being chained to a frigging wall was pissing me off beyond belief.

"Hey, this is not my fault! How was I supposed to know that your psycho ex-boyfriends wanted to steal and rape you for his own need to be manly? It's not my fault you have crappy taste in guys." I think he was trying to lighten the mood a little; apparently being locked in the dungeon and chained to a wall didn't affect him quite as much as it affected me.

"I know, I know. I don't blame you. I'm just a little pissy about being locked in a dungeon and chained to a wall. The fact that my psycho ex is the one to captured me just makes my life that much better," I took a deep breath. "And it's not your fault that we're here, if anything it's the bodyguards who let you help me cut school's fault."

"It's okay. Let's just try to find a way out of here. In the meantime would you mind telling me what happened to your shoes?"

I didn't see Steven at all that day, nor the next, but some of his skin heads came into the room at various times to bring us food. The food always contained a hunk of bread, and a cup of water. But for breakfast there was some type of oatmeal-like thing, and for lunch and dinner there was a hunk of some type of meat. There was only ever one tray for the two of us, so Zack ate the bread, and I ate the meat.

By the second day, I had managed to shimmy the knife out of my tight dress, but neither of us had anything to do with it. It was too dull to cut through the chains, but it was too wide to try to pick the locks. Nonetheless, we held onto it, just in case it posed some use in the future.

For a week we were stuck in the dungeon, with no one but each other for company. To anyone else, this would have seemed like a perfect opportunity to get to know each other and, you know, grow closer and stuff like that. But for me and Zack, it was just a chance for us to argue and blame each other for being kidnapped.

By the seventh day in the dungeon, I realized the total cliché of it all, and laughed out loud.

"What's so funny?" Zack asked from across the room. It didn't sound like he was so interested in hearing the answer, just that he was so tired and weary that he had nothing else to do.

"I was just thinking about how completely cliché this whole situation is," I said with a chuckle, fading back into silence.

Zack was quite for a while and I thought he had dropped the conversation, but a few minutes later he spoke again, "How?"

"Well, come on. I mean, here we are, one girl kidnapped by the psycho-maniac whose peeved because he didn't get the girl. One ex-drug addict also kidnapped while trying to protect said girl. One psycho-maniac pissed off because he didn't get the girl in high school, out to right his wrongs. Both kidnapees chained to the wall getting served bread and water and undistinguishable foods. I'll be damned if this isn't the most cliché situation I've ever been in." I chuckled again, but got no response from Zack. We fell into silence again, but this time he didn't interrupt it with more questions.


End file.
